


Grief and Mourning and How Keeping Up Traditions Can Help

by stingerpicnic (ibelieveinfiction)



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Character Death, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, this one's sad y'all i'm just warning you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-11 15:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19542004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinfiction/pseuds/stingerpicnic
Summary: Snufkin hasn't had the strength to return to Moominvalley for a long, long time. But there is someone he feels he needs to visit and properly say goodbye to before it all ends.





	Grief and Mourning and How Keeping Up Traditions Can Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittyorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyorange/gifts).
  * Inspired by [everything (i could never admit i wanted)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19039876) by [stingerpicnic (ibelieveinfiction)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinfiction/pseuds/stingerpicnic). 



> We're getting back to my roots (that no one knows about) of being an angst writer with this one y'all!
> 
> This is loosely related to my [it's a small world after all](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358647) series, but can be read as a standalone. It's sort of a slightly au ending to that series.
> 
> Also for those of you that like this kind of thing, one of the songs I listened to while writing this was [Saturn by Sleeping At Last.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s&app=desktop) It sort of fits the mood and it's pretty emotional.

The way to Moominvalley is still familiar to him. He's walked it too many times in his life for it _not_ to be. It may have been decades now since he's had the strength to return, but he could never forget the valley or the forest that surrounds it.

Forgetting the valley would mean forgetting _Moomintroll_ and all the time they spent together there. Forgetting fishing trips and hikes. Forgetting daring adventures and peaceful picnics. Forgetting countless conversations and kisses pressed to skin and fur and _lips._ Forgetting their wedding and forgetting their _home._ Forgetting the greatest love of his life. Forgetting the family he found there.

No, Snufkin could never forget anything about the valley. Not ever. Even if remembering hurts.

There are a lot of trees in the forest that surrounds Moominvalley. Really, it would be quite odd if there _weren't._ It wouldn't be much of a forest without trees, now would it? But out of all the trees in the forest he's looking for one _specific_ tree in one specific spot. He knows where it is, of course. He had helped plant it himself, biting back tears and trying to still the shaking in his paws as he packed soil in around its roots.

Still, he spends far too much time wandering the forest. He tells himself he only wants to take in the forest and note the ways it's changed its shape since the last time he was here. He's not scared. Not of anything he might find and _certainly_ not of any pain he might feel.

His pack seems to get just a little bit heavier and the ache that settled in his chest so long ago he can scarcely remember what it was like without it there gets just a bit more difficult to ignore with every step closer. But that means nothing. He's just enjoying his walk and that's _all._ It's what Moomintroll would have wanted for him.

He comes upon the tree exactly when he expects to. It's not in an area that's exactly _difficult_ to find and he did know where he was going after all. Even if he did take the long way around.

He feels his breath punch out of him as he sees it, innocently growing just past the treeline. It's on a slight hill amidst a sea of flowers. He'd chosen it for the memories and Moomintroll had agreed it was a suitable place before the end. It was the same place he and Moomintroll had spent so many warm spring and summer days talking and making each other flower crowns. It was the same field they sat in when Snufkin decided he wanted to marry him. It was the same field where he realized all his wishes had come true without him noticing. Where he realized he was just fine with being tied down if he was being tied to Moomintroll and the wonderful family he found for himself here in the valley.

The tree stands tall and proud. He can see its root system splayed out all around it. It's branches reach high into the sky, green leaves marking it as being gloriously alive. It's a far cry from the fragile little sapling he last saw it as. It only reminds him of how long it's been.

He takes a deep breath to refill his empty lungs and walks forward on legs that want to give up on him.

The flowers are beautiful and nostalgic, pulling memories of flower crowns and bouquets to sit fuzzy and soft at the edge of his mind in much the same way that the flowers themselves blur together at the edges of his vision. On any other day he might stop and take a moment to enjoy them, but not now and not these flowers. He doesn't know if he would be able to handle it even if he could manage to stop and pay attention to them. All he can see is the tree and all he can think about is the day he planted it, snapshots of white fur and white sheets and pawfuls of dirt and a world blurred by tears flashing across his vision.

He reaches the tree, nearly stumbling over the exposed roots near the base. He almost feels like he's in a dream. Like nothing is quite real. Like he's not quite as attached to his body as he should be.

He raises a paw. It hangs in the air for a painful moment, hesitant. Like touching the bark will make it all real, even as it's _been_ real for _decades._ Like it will erase the possibility unlearning hard truths he never guessed he would _have_ to learn. Like it will mean giving up on a chance at something he knows he can't have.

But that's not how life works. There are no second chances and he's long made peace with his lot in life. Everything is already set in stone. He did his best. He made it as good as he could for him. He did absolutely everything he could and then he did some more. He fulfilled every wish Moomintroll made to him and he smiled through the pain until he wasn't there to see it anymore.

He touches the tree.

It's exactly like touching any other tree, but he can't help but imagine that something is fundamentally different about _this_ one. He doesn't know what, but _something_ is different. Something he can't physically feel in the texture of the bark under his paw, but is still _there._

He would like to think that this tree feels _happier_ , somehow. Filled with love. He hopes that's it. It would make sense, at least. Moomintroll, if he was nothing else, was always a creature of love.

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and the whole world seems to sigh right along with him.

There's a tightness building in his chest, in his throat and around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. It's that's nothing yet but speaks of becoming _something._ It's a warning he's familiar with. He tries to swallow it down. It doesn't work nearly as well as he would like it to.

He kneels, paw trailing down the tree trunk as he lowers himself closer to the ground on weak knees, and takes his pack from his shoulders. Inside, there's his standard traveling fare. There's everything that's necessary for his survival and what gifts from Moomintroll he still has. But there's also a small stack of books filled with his own messy cursive scrawled across every inch of available writing space. They're both incredibly unnecessary for him to have and so, _so_ necessary all at once.

He takes the books out. Holds them to his chest. Presses a kiss to the cover of the topmost book. Closes his eyes and feels the way his breath shakes out of him, the way his heart tries to beat out of his chest. Opens. Swallows. Reverently sets them down on the ground like he's making a sacred offering to an old god.

This is the end of something. He can feel it. Not the end of his writing, he doubts he'll stop writing to Moomintroll as long as he has the strength to hold a pen. It's one of the only things that has kept him sane through all the moments where he's been sure he was finally going to break under the crushing loneliness of having lost the most important person in his life. But this is the end of _something._ Maybe he's letting go.

"Moomintroll," he says, staring at the base of the tree, _through_ the base of the tree. Down through the dirt to where he'd laid his whole world to rest. It feels a little useless to talk like this. Moomintroll can't hear him anymore and nothing he says or does will _ever_ make him smile again. He'll never hear his voice again or be heard himself. He wants nothing more than for Moomintroll to tease him for the raspy whisper his voice has become from lack of use, for him to make jokes about how the South must be devoid of people if Snufkin really hasn't had anyone to talk to since they last saw each other, tell him he's far too lovely and much too interesting to be surrounded by people and want for conversation. But he'll never have that again, either. He won't ever have the chance to turn it on him and say there were plenty of people but none were as pleasant to speak with as him, so he didn't bother speaking with them at all just to see the smile spread across his face. That's not a luxury he's had for a long time. So long he can barely even remember the sound of his voice anymore.

He glances back down at the small stack of books in front of him. No, Moomintroll hasn't been able to say _anything_ to him for a long, _long_ time.

"Moomintroll, _dove,_ I-" his voice cracks on the beginning of a sob and he feels something else crack inside him at the same time. Something he was sure wasn't so fragile. Something he thought was unbreakable after so long, only for it to shatter with one wrong touch. Like a Prince Rupert's drop. He hasn't cried over this in years.

"I love you," he says, because he doesn't care if the effort is useless or not and because it's still true, even now. He doesn't think it will ever _not_ be true. But that does nothing to stop the ocean of grief that's caught him in its riptide. He's _shaking_ and there's _nothing_ he can do about it. "I miss you _so much,"_ he says around the short gasps his breath has become. He's never missed anyone as much as he misses Moomintroll. It's a different kind of longing than anything he ever experienced before, back when he still had the confidence that Moomintroll was just a journey away and ready to welcome him back with open arms. He never knew it was _possible_ to miss someone like this before.

All he can think about is all the things Moomintroll missed. All the moments he would have made better and all the jokes he would have loved to be a part of. All the times he's turned to make a comment or started constructing a narrative for his most recent adventure to make it a fun story to share and realised there was no one to share it _with._ All times he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hold his paw but _couldn't._ All the mornings he's woken devastatingly _alone,_ no sound of another heartbeat or gentle breathing to listen to, no sleepy purr to feel rumble through him where they're pressed together, no soft white fur to lose himself in, and no one to whisper sleep soaked sweet nothings to. Every meal he cooked for one and every smile he couldn't share. There's been an empty space next to him where there should have been a person for _decades_ now.

For a long time, Snufkin was the one who left Moomintroll alone every year. He was the experienced traveller. He wanted nothing more than to be alone sometimes, to go somewhere he wouldn't be followed. But it was _Moomintroll_ who went where he could not follow and left _him_ so terribly alone. It's the cruelest irony Snufkin has ever experienced.

It's never stopped hurting, not _really_. Just gotten easier to ignore. But right here, right now, it feels as if the wound is fresh again. All ragged edges and feverish anguish and pain he can't push away. It's like his heart is being ripped out again, pulled to pieces by a thousand fish hooks on a thousand fishing lines. But that can't be right, because he buried his heart right here. There's nothing left to take. Nothing that really matters at least.

He presses his forehead to the ground and _sobs._ Moomintroll would hate to see him like this, he's sure. He smiled through his last moments, smiled into the last kiss they ever shared just so he wouldn't have to see him cry. But all he can do even _try_ to stop this is bring his paw to his mouth to muffle his screams and wrap his tail around himself in a poor facsimile of a hug.

He should be over this! He _should!_ It's been _years, decades_ even. It really shouldn't hurt so much after so long. But that thought does nothing to diminish the black hole that's opened up in his chest, cold and all consuming. So he screams and he cries and he sobs until he can't anymore.

Later, when he calms down, the world is quieter. He doesn't know if he only thinks that because of the ringing in his ears or the fact that he's likely scared away all the creeps in the area with his grief. Probably both.

He does feel a little better. But then again, he's not feeling much of anything right now besides emotionally drained. He doesn't know if that technically counts as _better_.

But he came here with a purpose. He wanted to do and something and by the ocean he's _going_ to do it. Even if he's not sure he'll be able to do it without breaking down again. He still has to _try_ , still has to _start._ He's done many difficult things for Moomintroll just by convincing himself to start.

He settles himself in amongst the roots of the tree and leans against its trunk. If he tries hard enough he can almost pretend that he's leaning against Moomintroll himself again. It's the closest he'll ever get, anyways. This tree is life born from death and he would like to think that that means something.

He picks up the first of the books. He'll leave them here when he's done, though he may decide to bury them so no one takes them away. They were always intended for Moomintroll, after all. Countless letters encapsulating his travels and his thoughts and his feelings, written in a tradition Moomintroll himself had started between them and never gifted or sent. Not that he had anyone to send these _to,_ not like he used to. Still, they _did_ rightfully belong to Moomintroll. Even if he'll never really know what they contain.

"Dearest Moomintroll," he starts. His voice is even rougher than it was before, tearing its way up and out of his throat in a painfully raw whisper. He might lose his voice by end the of this if the sandpaper feeling of his voice in his throat is anything to go by. But that doesn't really matter. If doing this means he loses his voice so thoroughly he'll never be able to speak again then so be it. It's not like there's many people left that he thinks are _worth_ speaking to anyway. And the few that _are_ left can deal with his hand signs if he ever sees them again. He'll cheerfully give whatever is left of his voice to Moomintroll. There's no one else he would rather give it to. "It's been a while since I've last written you, hasn't it? Not that you've likely noticed. You're _gone,_ dove. Loneliness never used to be such a terrible thing, but now I'm realizing it's truly awful. I don't know if I'll ever be used to the loneliness again. It's funny, really. I still think about how all my experiences on my travels might best be worded when you ask me about them. Like just recently I stopped in this strange little town…."

It's a nice day. Bright and clear and warm as anything. There have been many nice days over the last several decades, some of which many people would argue were far better than this one. But Snufkin decides that this one is unequivocally better than any of those other days, tears included. It's better than of those days because it's the first of them that he's spent with Moomintroll and Moomintroll always makes everything better, even if he's not really there.

And if Snufkin pretends that the soft whisper of the breeze and the quiet rustle of leaves mean anything, then that's his business and no one else's.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so basically I was just scrolling through tumblr and I saw some fanart for an entirely unrelated ship in an entirely unrelated fandom that made me slam on the figurative mental brakes and rush to ask [@candycorncartooncat](https://candycorncartooncat.tumblr.com/) "hey what if moomins and mumriks had wildly different lifespans? you know because they're different species and all??" and then after some discussion I wrote like 700 words of this directly into the tumblr messaging chatbox in under an hour.
> 
> Neither or us could really decide on whether Snufkin or Moomin would have a longer lifespan. We could come up with reasons for either to make sense and for either to make really interesting stories. But I like Snufkin angst and just writing Snufkin is general so I went with him living longer.
> 
> Anyway come scream at me over on my [tumblr @stingerpicnic](https://stingerpicnic.tumblr.com/)! Both my ask box and my messages are open and I promise I'm friendly!


End file.
